Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(68)

“Yeah, I remember that,” I snapped. “But you know what would’ve really driven the point home? Mentioning that when your parties get wild, girls get stabbed … Because I’m pretty sure we didn’t cover that part. I would’ve remembered, Ruger.”

“She’ll get her justice,” he said, eyes darkening. “Toke will pay. Deke and Picnic are on it.”

“Um, hate to break it to you, but Em doesn’t need justice,” I pointed out, voice heavy with sarcasm. “She needs to not get cut with a knife in the first place. Women are finicky that way—we like not getting cut.”

“It was a horrible accident,” he said slowly. “And despite whatever crazy shit you’re imagining, it’s not something that’s ever happened before.”

“You’re telling me with a straight face that you never have fights at your clubhouse?”

“No,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly. “I’m telling you that they don’t usually involve innocent women. Two men want to fight, that’s their business.”

“And what about women who aren’t so innocent?” I asked. “Where do you draw the line on that one? Do you like to hit girls, Ruger? Is that okay in your stupid club?”

The air changed between us, growing cold. Oh, that got to him … A whole new level of angry rolled into the room between us, and I suddenly realized taunting him might not be such a great idea.

“Don’t talk about the club like that,” he said, face like stone. “Show respect if you want to be treated with respect. And you know what? Damned straight I’d hit a woman, if she hit me first. I’m not a knight in shining f*cking armor, Sophie. What part of this don’t you get? I’ve been honest with you all along, no bullshit. And yeah, a woman who attacks a man deserves what she gets. She wants to act like a man, she can damned well fight like one.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” I asked him. He shook his head.

“Not a bit. You want equality, babe? That’s equality.”

“Yeah, you’re practically a feminist,” I muttered. “Em wasn’t fighting, Ruger. She’ll have a scar the rest of her life. And how is it women have equality when it comes to taking a hit but the rest of the time they’re just some guy’s property?”

“Stop talking shit about things you don’t understand,” he growled. “‘Property’ is a term of respect. It’s part of our culture. You start judging us for that, you better start judging every woman who changes her name the day she gets married, because it’s the same damned thing.”

He stopped, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

“When you’re someone’s property, you’re a woman the brothers will die to protect,” he continued, his voice softening. “They’ll die to protect your kid, too. Don’t turn that kind of loyalty into something ugly because you don’t like the words we use. Dancer, Marie, Maggs? They’re proud to be property, because they know what it means. Nobody forcing them to do anything.”

I swallowed, processing that.

“So tell me this,” I asked. “Why did Horse tell me that Marie’s ‘worth every penny he paid for her’? Because that sounded a little f*cked up, and I don’t think he was joking.”

“You’re at the clubhouse for less than a day and you’ve already heard about that?” he muttered, almost to himself. “Jesus. A little f*ckin’ discretion would be nice.”

“Yup, don’t want to scare away the new girls with reality, do we?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “Marie and Horse are fine, and they’re getting married next month, so I think it’s a moot point.”

“Holy shit, did he really buy her?” I asked, eyes widening. “Ruger, that’s—I don’t even have words for that!”


“Good, maybe you’ll shut up,” he said. “If you’re interested, I have an update on Em for you. You know, your friend you’re so worried about? Maybe a little more important than lecturing me about women’s rights, ya think?”

I froze, shamed. Ruger was right. I’d been more focused on fighting with him than on Em. How shitty was that?

“Yeah, I’d like to hear how she’s doing,” I said. I tossed Puff to the side and rose to my feet. He stepped forward into my space, doing that intimidation thing he was so good at. “So how is she?”

“She’s fine,” he said after a long pause. “It wasn’t much of a cut. About three inches long and not deep at all. We got a friend of the club who came by, gave her some stitches to make sure she stays all pretty when it heals. Antibiotics, just to be careful. Last I saw her, she was high as a kite on oxy and singing some kid song about kittens and mittens. Picnic’s not feelin’ quite so festive, gotta admit.”

“That’s good news,” I replied, staring at his chest blankly. He really was way too close. “I got a text from Maggs an hour ago, but I wasn’t sure if she was downplaying things or not. I don’t like your parties, Ruger.”

“First part wasn’t half bad,” he said slowly, a knowing smile stealing across his face. “You know, in the shed?”

He reached out and touched my neck lightly, then wrapped his fingers around it.